


hearts can be well-hidden ( but you betray them with your words )

by Niahara_Erskine



Series: Tales from the Primordial Soup [1]
Category: Abrahamic Religions, Christian Bible (Old Testament), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Historical References, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2018-08-28 10:40:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8442676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niahara_Erskine/pseuds/Niahara_Erskine
Summary: Before the Arrangement, before the Apocalypse, they were enemies, agents of different sides caught in the middle of a struggle between the Powers that Be alongside the nascent humanity that was just making its first journey. Beings walking two roads that start so different, opposing really, until bit by bit, they bend, they break, they split, they mingle and unite, slowly turning into one. A story starting in a Garden and ending with the birth of a Savior.





	1. A Whisper at the Very Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Contains somewhat controversial views and retellings of biblical events. If they are not your cup of tea, I recommend you steer clear of this story.
> 
> Well, this comes as part of my self-imposed challenge to take part in NaNoWriMo this year. The idea came a bit out of the blue, I'll have to admit, and I wasn't sure exactly what to make of it, until I reread Good Omens and finally made sense of my thoughts. It's gonna have a bit ( or actually more than a bit ) controversial version of Lucifer, God and the elements of Creation.

Everything is arrested in motion, caught in a state of utter stillness, frozen in time for a fragment of a moment, smaller than mere mortal minds could have ever perceived. A moment, stone-like stillness taking over the planet as a hand waves over all of Creation and blows gently over it. And then time starts its unending march again…

It starts with silence. Incredulity, wide eyes gazing at the surroundings – not destroyed, not charred and burned, not the wasteland that was supposed to have been, but rather green, lush grass and blooming flowers even in the middle of the cold season, a cat darting across a lawn and the chirp of birds in trees.

It starts with a deep breath following the silence, the quirk of a smile and cerulean eyes, blue like the sky above their heads that is no longer stained by a red sun, gazing in yellow orbs, with the blistering hope and faith only one from Above can have.

It starts with a laugh, shy, muted at first, chocked as if trying to keep it in check, but becoming louder and louder, as the rumble burst from within his throat and echoed in the stillness of their surroundings. The laughter of genuine happiness, not sarcasm or irony, not the laughter that had stained their last days when they had done so in order to keep the tattered remains of their shattered hope together.

It starts with life bursting from the very being of the Planet, with the giggles of children running down the streets and the promise of an upcoming Dusk, followed by a new Dawn.  It starts with old people berating the youth for their unruliness, with a tea kettle starting to whistle on the stove, with a leaf blown in the wind and the echo of gentle laughter in the air.

It starts with hope and the mark of another Day, and another and another…

Or perhaps it Ends so. Who is it to say?

Is it an End or merely a new Beginning?

It is up to you to decide…

After all, stories are always more than they seem and the Beginning and the End are not as easy to define as many would have expected them to be.

\---

But if this should be the End or the start of a new Beginning, then when did this story start to unfold?

Sense dictates that it should have begun, like all good stories are wont to do, at the beginning. 

However, our tale starts long before the mere whisper of a Beginning could be formed. 

Before the thought of an End could even be uttered. 

It starts in darkness, oppressive and unending, with a presence lingering in the silence. It starts with a question voiced, or perhaps only thought, for no sound had ever before been heard in our tale. 

”Has it come? The moment?” And the presence, grand yet terrible, allowed its thought to echo, bringing forth the promise of a night that had yet to fall, of the chime of stars still lingering unlit and the hoot of an owl that had not been whispered into being.

 “It has come.” Yet another, just as grand, yet merciful where the other was terrible. A perfect opposite, or the other side of a coin, warmth to the first’s cold and brilliance to counter the lingering dark. An adversary and a counterpart. The hint of suns bursting in the skies, of light shimmering in unopened eyes, of worlds yet to be born. 

 “They will fear. They will cry. They will rage. They will suffer.” The thoughts of the first, tendrils of malice wrapped in words, long before such notions were even thought to be defined. A promise of anguish and pain, given with the surety of one that knows what is to come. A hint of the future at the burst of an upcoming dawn. “They will hate.”

 “So they will,” a murmur from the second, the first hint of a sound breaching the encompassing darkness, glimmers bursting around them as specks of light came to be spread. “But they will also laugh. They will cherish. They will show mercy.” The same resolution, the same knowledge, an ancient voice, with no Beginning and no End, bringing worlds into being with the boom of his words. “They will love.”

And so they stood, darkness and light entwined, good and evil as some will later come to call them, though matters had never been so simple, watching the echo of their Thoughts moving into Being, bringing the Beginning with their words and prophesying the End with their following Silence. 

Good and evil. Light and Dark.  God and His Adversary. Watching the worlds come into being, steadfast Presences in the Ages to come.

And so our story begins. With the Light bursting through the Darkness and the Swirl of Creation shaping all that IS and all that ever could BE.


	2. Betrayal at the Dawn of Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They say God created the Seen and the Unseen, parted the waters from the sky and made the Heavens. And God looked at his creation and saw that it was good. And such passed the second Day. 
> 
> But ask yourselves, what is it that they do not say?

They say God created the Seen and the Unseen, parted the waters from the sky and made the Heavens. And such passed the second Day.

But ask yourselves, what is it that they do not say?

They do not say that Heaven and Hell were created at the same time, counterparts, mirrored images painted in contrasting colors, so different and yet so alike. They do not speak of the burst of light and darkness in a world still taking form, opposites interwoven, creating the Balance of the Universe.

My dears, stop and think.

There can never be Good without Evil, or light without darkness; they are two sides of the same coin spinning in the Ages of the worlds. So how could Heaven had come to be without its counterpart?

They were both born in the swirl of Creation, perfect counterbalances for the other and between them worlds were bursting into Being for it was only the second Day and much had yet to come.

What they do not say is this; God took his seat in Heaven and his Adversary in Hell. And all was well, for such was the Plan and had ever Been and would ever Be.

Heaven did not remain empty for long. God created the Angels, beings of Divine Power, of Grace, soldiers, messengers and guardians of the world just taking shape, the first of His Children.  And for each, he set a purpose.

But, neither did Hell remain empty for long; in his domain, the Adversary gave shape to Fell beings, to hounds and imps, to creatures of darkness and malice. He bound them to his Will, gave them a twisted purpose, a mockery of all the angels strove towards.

And for a while all was Silent as time ticked and the passing Days heralded the birth of the world.

But things could not remain so for long, as temptation comes in many forms, my dears. Sometimes it glides unseen, a wisp of darkness whispering poisoned words in the ears of all those willing to listen. Sometimes it presents itself as an angel with the light of the stars mirrored in his gaze, murmuring words about rebellion. And sometimes it just IS, a presence with no form, giving away no knowledge about the place from whence it came.

Here is the truth, dear ones. Though his dwelling was in Hell, the Adversary was never barred from Heaven. His role was to test after all. He lingered among them, planting doubt in their minds, planting seeds of discord and leaving no recollection of his presence as he left.

But sometimes… sometimes he allowed himself to forget, just for the briefest of moments. Sometimes he allowed himself to drift towards those he knew he had no chance of tempting, towards those whose Faith burned more powerful than that of any other. He allowed himself to revel in their presence, accepting Michael’s boisterous bravado and being the reason for Gabriel’s easy laughter. Yearning for Raphael’s soothing touch and seeking Uriel’s gentle smile. Sometimes he allowed himself to forget and became Lucifer, their brother.

But he knew it could not last.

The seeds he had planted were already taking root foretelling the end.

\---

Humanity asks itself: why are they being tempted so? Why must there be Evil in the world? Why did the angels first Fall? And the answer to them is simple. Blame hoisted on the shoulders of one known once as the Lightbringer and later as the Adversary. Humans think they have the answer down pat, but in truth all religions have been warped by the passage of time and the real truth has long been lost.

The story goes like this.

There was once an angel, the greatest and most powerful of all God’s creations, an angel that had all that it took to become mightiest among God’s Host. But pride and greed and rebellion stole over this angel’s soul, took root and festered. He wished to seize that which he could not have, he grew envious of God and his power, so he rebelled and Fell.

Fell from the Grace that was Heaven into the very pits of Hell. And there, he shed the name he had held till then, stripped away everything that once made him mightiest among the Host of Heaven, including his name, Lucifer, and took up another title. Satan, the Adversary. The Devil, the enemy to God’s will.

And then the story goes forth.

They say that it is his fault that humans are forever tempted, forever drawn to darkness and malice and evil.

However, as you already know, tales are not always as straightforward as they might seem. Much is lost in time as history passes from recollection, warping itself into legends and stories told in hushed whispers in the dead of the night.

And these stories, well they change as well, as they pass from one to another, from author to author, from book to book.

The story goes like this. There was Lucifer, brightest and greatest among the Host, the first to Question and be stricken down for his audacity.

But the tale is wrong.

If you ask any angel or fallen they will tell you that there never had been such an angel among the Host, that neither of them can remember where Satan had come from. They will tell that he had been there from the Beginning, a Presence opposing God’s light, a trickster who waited for their Fall. And once they did, he caught them, gently so, soothed the burns on their Wings and the ash in their soul, blew upon them and watched as grey wings, flaming, turned to midnight black. Watched as their eyes of cerulean blue and verdant green turned to yellow and red and black.

If you ask any demon, they will tell you that he caught them all in his arms, each of the fallen angels and brought them in their new domain. Once there, he gave them purpose and new names.

_( none will mention that there is a shadow in their recollection, that neither of them can seem to grasp the wisp of a memory that eludes them so, the memory of a silhouette, a bright presence gliding among the Heavens at Michael’s side, gaze delighted and sorrowful at the same time. they will not remember the echo of laughter following Gabriel’s escapades in the Heavens and the gentle chiding whenever Raphael refused to offer aid where it was due. they will not mention the memories that none of them hold anymore, of one who for the briefest of times – in the eyes of time stretching in Heaven at the very least – was part of them, before returning to this domain Below )_

\---

The War in the Heavens started with a disappearance. With memories whipped from existence and the murmurs of rebellion growing. With dissent spreading among the ranks, with words turning vicious, with brothers and sisters turning against each other without a moment’s hesitation. That which the Adversary had sowed spread far and wide, encompassing the entirety of the Heavens and sparing none of the ranks. Temptation towards the forbidden, the desire for greatness, greed and envy and wrath twisting in their souls.

The story goes like this.

There were angels who Fell, who rebelled against their purpose, who sought more for themselves. Angels who questioned, who judged, who deemed their place in the Divine Plan insufficient, too unbecoming. They wished to seize the whole of Creation for themselves, but instead they were toppled down, smote from the Heavens by the Father himself, cursed to the wretchedness and flames of hell.

The stories tell us many things. Some of them, grains of sand between the desert that is the history of Creation, fragments like this tale, may yet be true.

Hush, listen. Seek the truth for yourself.


	3. Burning on the winds of Rebellion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It started with a whisper; honeyed words dripping with poison taking root in the minds of ones who might have once been grand. It started with a promise; the promise of freedom, of power, of superiority. It started with a glimmer of a thought, a small idea taking shape.
> 
> It ended with a hurricane, with war and chaos and death.

It started with a whisper; honeyed words dripping with poison taking root in the minds of ones who might have once been grand. It started with a promise; the promise of freedom, of power, of superiority. It started with a glimmer of a thought, a small idea taking shape.

It ended with a hurricane, with war and chaos and death.

It ended with a Fall. With bonds broken and siblings slayed. With pristine white feathers stained by death and flames.

It started with an idea.

It ended with a revolution.

It did not matter that all that had come was meant to Be, part of a plan so grand and absolute that none of the angels could ever hope to understand. It did not matter, because the pain was too great to catalog, the loss almost too hard to withstand. It did not matter because when a brother takes sword against you, vowing to slay you or die trying, of what importance are Ineffable Plans anymore? It does not matter because they all lost, both the fallen and the angels.

And the two Presences, watching them unknown and unseen, a fragment of a second away from revealing themselves, knew that all too well. But they stood and watched, one burning bright like a thousand suns, warmth and love and benevolence, one blazing cold like the light of stars, darkness and wrath and malice. They watched and they waited for the second to pass, for the moment to come.

It started with a whisper.

It ended with a Fall.

\---

Legends tell us many things; they recall the times of heroes riding valiantly against their foes, slaying dragons and saving princesses. They tell us of villains, mad kings and bitter tyrants, slaughtering those who oppose them until one too great to be defeated moves in their path. They speak of good and evil clenched in an everlasting battle to be waged until the End of all things.

But they do not tell you of the little ones.

Those deemed unimportant, those passing unseen when compared with deeds of valour or tyranny.

They do not speak of the butcher’s son, even if he saved the life of the gardener’s daughter, when all were in turn saved by a mighty prince.

They do not speak of the little girl, hurling a rock with uncanny accuracy at the head of a soldier, stopping him from slaying a mighty general who later became a benevolent King.

They are forgotten, lost to the passage of time.

But let us not get ahead of ourselves. Such stories are still to come, long in the future of the nascent world. Our story is still at the Beginning, when no human had yet opened their eyes to Sun and Moon and Stars.

Take a seat my dears and listen.

Let me tell you a story.

It is not a story about valiant heroes off to slay dragons nor is it a story about dastardly villains wishing to destroy the Earth. Rather it is a story of choice and choices, of small angels who pose questions and a fall that is not quite a Fall.

\---

Salathiel was among the last of the angels to be created, a simple malakhim among many others; young in the eyes of his peers, young and different. An angel who sought to discover, who questioned all he could find to question, who wanted to create and imagine. An angel that soon found a place for himself in the gardens of Heaven where he coaxed plants to his will, made them grow and bloom, miracled away the hurts from the trees and made them strong. An angel who blew over butterflies and delighted as he watched them change colour, who painted the petals of roses in shades of lavender and blue. He was not powerful, not by any stretch of imagination, but what he lacked in power he made up in creativity.

When the civil war came, when shadows stole over the archangels’ faces due to a loss none could quite remember or explain, when Beelzebub took up arms against Uriel and Asmodeus slashed Gabriel with fury, when brothers and sisters turned against brothers and sisters, Salathiel did not fight. He would have not made much of a difference either way and he could not bear to get involved; not when those he knew and loved were bent on destroying one another, not when all that was beautiful in their Heaven was being burned in wake of the destruction. Not when his blue roses withered under the flames and his trees were cut down by burning white swords. Not even when the gardens were laid waste to, all his work dust and ash.

He stood aside, watched the hurricane of destruction tear through the Heavens, stood helpless as wrath and greed and pride turned their sanctuary into a battlefield.

And perhaps it would have remained so had he not seen him.

One of the cherubs, one like any other really, flaming sword in hand and cerulean eyes flashing with fury, plump fingers closed tight over the hilt of his blade and hands steady with determination. Just like any other and yet…

_( millenniums upon millenniums later, thinking back to barely remembered events, Crowley would wonder whether it had been for the best that he had not known Aziraphale then. that until the Garden all they had known of each other had been a mere glimpse. perhaps if they had met, they would have become friends and the Fall would have hurt ever the more. perhaps if they had, he might had never questioned, never doubted, never fallen. there is no way of truly knowing. the Past was the Past and wishful thinking would not turn the wheel backwards. he would not even want it to. )_

Salathiel stood up from his shelter and watched.  Watched as this cherub, less powerful than most of those against whom he had taken arms, was holding his ground against Leviathan, his body a shield to the fallen Uriel. As he dared her to attack him, giving himself up as a target to allow the fallen archangel to gather his spent strength.

He watched as Leviathan snarled, her beautiful face twisted in rage and malice, her sword stained with the blood of Father only knew how many brothers and sisters. As she moved forth, movements taunting, beckoning in sadistic pleasure, the desire to dole out death plain on her features.

_( millenniums later Crowley would bemoan having to deal with the same type of suicidal bravery when it came to his sometimes enemy, sometimes friend. but right now he was not to know how things would change )_

In that moment Salathiel knew he did not wish to see this angel die, not this cherub with his bravery in face of sure death and his blinding faith and neither any of the others. So the malakhim cried out, a mournful song of sorrow and dismay, haunting notes making the land rumble, forcing the ground to burst and split. And from it vines tore towards the skies, twisting against ankles and calves, bringing the fallen down to the ground, Grace infused thorns tearing in their very being.

The angel cried and his plants came alive in wake of his misery. Still, his power was but little and already the betrayers were cutting the vines and the thorns, fire searing the offending plants. Leviathan turned to him, rage burning in darkening eyes, her target forgotten.

And then the very skies rumbled and burst, lightning tearing over them and the thundering voice of the Father stopped all in their wake. With a word they were all cast down, they were all made to Fall, anger suffused so greatly in the Command that their wings caught fire as they fell.

The battlefield grew silent… all that remained were angels battered and bruised, some lost forever, some victorious and mourning. A cherub falling to his knees near an archangel, flaming sword clattering to the ground near him. A lull, a silence stealing over the battlefield, the deep breath once the storm has passed.

It did not last long. The silence was interrupted. One voice spoke up, one voice questioned, one voice demanded answers. One little voice that had stood hidden until the very end.

“Why Father? Why did you allow this? If you see all, why did you let it come to this?”

The little malakhim, a botanist of sorts had there been a term for such at that time,  a lover of all things green, blazed with barely contained fury, anger and sorrow burning in green eyes. His wings quivered with barely repressed fury, a tint of grey spreading over them as he demanded an answer for all the grief, all the sorrow and the wanton destruction. But before another question could be uttered, before more answers could be asked, the ground beneath him parted – more gently than it had for the others, yet parting nonetheless – and last Salathiel saw of Heaven were the cherub’s blue eyes wide in shock as he watched him Fall. And if there was the ghost of a remorseful touch, a whispered apology offered by a Presence, Salathiel would never remember.

The plan was Ineffable.

But it did not mean the Players behind it could not regret some events that were to come to pass.

Salathiel had fallen because he had questioned ineffability.

But that did not mean the Powers that Be could not be gentle.

_( six thousand years and an almost Apocalypse later, Crowley would still complain about the event. It had been in his name **[1]**, the desire to question, to know, to find answers for the unanswerable. Crowley found God quite the hypocrite for punishing him for something the Father himself had named him for,  but one could not really file a complaint to Upper Management, now could they? )_

The Fall itself was not the brusque, ball of fire and ash, damnation be upon thee should thee ever step foot in the Heavens again, the others had felt when they had fallen. It had been more a trap door opening beneath his feet and himself tripping down the stairs till he reached Below. It had been a gentle landing where others had crashed.

_( Crowley had called it sauntering vaguely downwards for a reason. It was the same reason for which Hastur would have gleefully peeled his skin off given the opportunity. Apparently the Duke of Hell had suffered the worst landing of all the Legion )_

When he opened his eyes, Salathiel found himself unable to see. Unknowingly to him, the verdant green of his eyes has turned to yellow and his new slit pupils demanded time until he became accustomed to them. He blinked, once, twice, thrice until the fog left his eyes and he saw himself inside an office of sorts, the type which would be stylish six thousand years down the road. At that time it was only confusing, doing nothing but making the hurt in his heart grow and fester.

“You did not Fall with the others,” a Presence said, a wisp of darkness that did not register in the fallen angel’s mind until it coalesced in a form.

The one  that stood before Salathiel was a man-shaped being, dark haired and copper eyed, features beautiful to look upon them, but terrible. A sardonic face on his features and a glint in his eyes, akin to pity, yet far from it. He stepped forth, feet moving without echo, stopping in front of the fallen angel huddled on the ground.

“Truth be told you did not even Fall. More like tripped down from Heaven. But no matter; you are here now which means you are Mine.” Copper eyes blazed with power, a dark sort of glee and just a hint of curiosity. “Aren’t you, my little Crawly?”

And the name echoed with Intent, a brand of possession marking the fallen angel’s very being, memories of being Salathiel obscuring as the new identity seared itself in the demon’s soul. Yellow eyes with slit pupils gazed upwards as black wings unfolded and quivered behind the fallen angel’s back in fear, a terse nod the only acknowledgement of the Adversary’s words.

As for Lucifer… a terrible look appeared on his features, a pleased smile that foretold of dark things to come.

* * *

 

[1] Salathiel from what I have found means “I have asked of God”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know many authors have their own takes on what Crowley's angelic name might be. I have chosen Salathiel because I really loved the meaning of the name and found it fitting given the way I wished to portray his inquisitive nature in Heaven.


	4. An apple’s poisoned bite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They tell you ‘hush child, I will speak of the Origin of Man and the Origin of Sin. I will tell you of a Garden and an Apple, of curiosity and temptation.’ They will speak of a forbidden fruit, of a bite and a banishment. Of a snake and a punishment. And they will not be wrong and yet not quite right.
> 
> Come child, listen carefully, the tale is not how you might have thought it was.

Come close, dear, listen. This is a story you know all too well. How could you not when it is painted across the centuries, words strewn haphazardly in our history, inked in scroll and parchment and paper.

They tell you _‘hush child, I will speak of the Origin of Man and the Origin of Sin. I will tell you of a Garden and an Apple, of curiosity and temptation.’_ They will speak of a forbidden fruit, of a bite and a banishment. Of a snake and a punishment. And they will not be wrong and yet not quite right.

Come child, listen carefully, the tale is not how you might have thought it was.

They say God created Man in His image and then He created Woman from Man. And both he placed in the Gardens of Eden where he allowed them to road freely. But from a Tree they could not eat, for the Father strictly forbid it of them. For a while they lived in Bliss as they did not stray from the Command, but a demon murmured poisoned words in Eve’s ear, making her take a bite. And she in turn gave the Apple to Adam and both were Banished for both strayed from the Command.

But I ask of you. Wherein lies the true Temptation? In the words of a demon or the very being of Humanity itself?

Come, listen. I’ll tell you a tale.

___

They tell Crawly ‘go up there and make some trouble.’ He listens, although he might not want to, because he is a demon now and already the memories of the Heavens and his Gardens are fading from his mind. He sheds his true form and assumes that of a snake, slithers past the guardian of the Northern Gate and ventures in Eden.

_( had he remembered, it would have hurt to see roses in shades of lavender and blue, it would have pained him to witness butterflies of all colors and trees stretching their arms towards the Heavens. he no longer remembers so it does not hurt, but somewhere deep inside his soul, an ache lingers. )_

He makes his way unseen and for a time merely watches the humans, these new Children the Father loves so. He watches Eve walk the paths of the forest with brazen temerity, unafraid and undeterred, climbing the highest trees and bathing in the crystal water of the lakes. Dirt and dust cling to her feet, leaves and twigs caught in the red tresses of her hair and her gaze often strays to the Tree of Knowledge.

He follows Adam as the Man roams the fields of Eden, plucking fruit from the trees and herding the animals to him, carefree and inquisitive. His face is smudge with dust and his hands are caked with mud, but still he does not stop. His eyes stray to Eve and to the Tree, doubt and desire caught in brown orbs in equal parts.

Crawly does not need to Tempt humanity for humanity is already tempting itself. The yearning is already there, banking in their souls, the desire to reach and pluck the knowledge for themselves. He doesn’t need to do much. Merely whisper encouragements, urging them to listen to the small, nagging voice in their minds, the one asking ‘what could possibly go wrong?’

After all, why give humans Free Will if they do not know what it is they can choose from?

He tells them _‘go, seek the truth for yourselves. Why would the Father deny it of you?’_

Crawly nurtures the seeds of doubt already growing in their souls. He bids his time and waits. It does not happen overnight. Even then humanity is independent, resilient, not prone to falling to the poisoned whispers of the first stranger to cross their path. So the demon is left to roam the Garden, to discover Eden for himself. The angels still pay him no heed, sentinels standing at their posts in North, South and West, grim and solemn. They see him as a snake and think of him no more.

But the East, oh the East is more interesting than the other three combined.

The Guardian of the Eastern Gate lies at his post, but his gaze is drawn backward, towards the garden, as opposed to assessing the dangers that might come from outside. There is a look of indulgent fondness on his features as he follows the barely seen movements inside. But when Crawly passes him by, he turns, alert and inquisitive, gaze drawn to the Serpent at his feet.

“And who might you be?”

It is not perhaps the most auspicious start for a conversation, what with Crawly being a demon in hiding and Aziraphale’s role being that of keeping him out. But the angel acts clueless and the fallen pretends to be merely a serpent, so it works; it is not the most auspicious beginning for anything, truth be told, but it just is and millenniums down the road they will marvel at their own little act of defiance.

_( the Fall had obscured the visage of the cherub that had made Salathiel enter the war, the cerulean eyes flashing with fear and raw determination that made him question. it is perhaps for the best; had he remembered at that time, Crowley is sure he would have resented the angel of the Eastern Gate )_

They spend days together, Crawly bringing news of the happenings inside the Garden, Aziraphale offering tales of Heaven. They should sear the demon’s soul, make him writhe is disgust and hatred, but even then, the only reaction offered is merely a roll of eyes and a hiss of disdain. After all the bureaucracy in Hell is not that much different. They are merely Sides, at the end of the Day.

Crawly is with Eve when she grasps the apple. He is with her when pink lips and white teeth close around the red fruit, when small hands offer the apple to Adam. He is quivering in anticipation when the man takes his own bite of the fruit, when knowledge falls over both of them.

He is there when the Father booms his vengeance from the Skies, curses him and curses his new Children, casts them out with nary a chance at redemption.

He tells himself he did the Right thing. _( he doubts his resolution )_ He tells Aziraphale it would be funny if the angel did the Wrong one. _( he does not wish to think what this would mean )_. And then they both stand and watch as Adam and Eve leave.

The two walk past the Eastern Gates, hand in hand, backs straight and gazes looking towards the future. A sword is clutched in Adam’s right hand, whereas Eve holds a bitten apple.

They are still barefoot and the harsh ground outside of Eden bites in their feet, jagged stones drawing blood, but they do not even winch, nor do they look back.

Centuries later, paintings will portray them as ashamed, fearful and cowed, quivering in face of the Father’s wrath. But now, right now, they are neither. There is a whole world stretching at their feet, and the forbidden fruit kindled their curiosity. They will cry later and lament and rage. They will regret and plead for mercy. But for now, they walk brazenly ahead.

And behind them a demon and an angel watch.

___

Hidden to them, others watch as well. Two presences, barely discernible in the beginning, gaining form the longer they remain at the outskirts of Eden.

“A rather harsh punishment would you not say? For doing something they had been meant to do from the very beginning?” An inquisitive voice, deep and echoing, sound travelling in the darkest of nights. A frown marks slightly feminine features, just another shape chosen as many others. The Adversary stands, copper haired and golden eyed, in the image of those recently banished from Eden.

“Perhaps it was, but how can they know happiness without grief? How can they know fulfillment without suffering?” His companion points out, a gentle voice echoing from the being that is not quite man-shaped neither a Presence as before. Something in between, powerful and blinding to look at, gold haired and sapphire eyed, with features engulfed by brilliance. “There must always be a Balance. We have known it. Now they have learned it as well.”

“This apple of yours,” the first asks, gaze straying to the Tree of Knowledge, withering under their very eyes in the now barred Garden. “It did not give them any knowledge, did it?”

“Of course not. It was a fruit, like any other. It might as well have been a pear or a grape. The mere act of rebellion, the desire to grasp the forbidden for themselves, to defy my orders and use their Free Will, that is which granted them the knowledge.” A wistfulness makes itself known, a regret towards things that cannot be changed. “The apple was merely the catalyst for Fate to follow its course. Still, I cannot deny it is hard to part from them.”

“You could not have kept them here forever,” the golden gaze watches the proceedings with thinly veiled approval. It had been too long already; he had waited enough for this. “We both know it. They were always meant to learn.”

“Is this why you sent him?” Fathomless blue eyes alight with curiosity, amusement on barely there features. “Your little serpent? Were you getting impatient the humans were not seizing the chance for themselves, that they were lingering in Eden too long? Is this why you sent him to breach the gates and tempt them?”

“Well it is hardly my fault your guardian was distracted, was it not? It wasn’t even the flighty one from the Eastern Gate. It was the other one, from the North.” A roll of eyes, words mocking hiding the truth beneath. Yes, he had been getting impatient.

“Do not change the subject,” God chides. “I know fully well Ophaniel was lax in her duties. She will be reprimanded accordingly. But that was not what I was asking. Was your impatience the reason for his presence in the garden?”

“Hardly,” the other scoffs. “I was meant to give him a purpose and I did. I sent him to Eden to cause some trouble. What he did from there was up to him. However, I must give the boy points for his creativity. It truly knows no bounds. I was not prepared for him to be quite so efficient. Inventor of the Original Sin, indeed.”

“He is smart,” the other echoes His amusement, chime of bells and flutter of wings in His voice. “He always has been. Asked the right questions, though in perhaps the wrong manner.”

“And yet you let him Fall.” Crawly would never truly be one of his. The Adversary knows it all too well. He had known it when the malakhim had not fallen with the others, but rather tripped down reluctantly. He had felt the spark still alight in the depth of the former angel’s soul.

“It was all part of the Plan.” And the sorrow is back in the voice, deep regret and a hint of guilt. “You know it as well as I. We have both shaped the Plan. We have both Spoken this world into being.”

“As were your little guardian’s actions.” Lucifer points out with glee, laughter, dark like the velvety fall of night, echoing in words. “Your Angel gave away his sword. His flaming sword. The one which should have been used to protect the Garden.” But no longer; Lucifer knew all too well in whose hands that sword would fall.  

“He was being merciful,” God interjects patiently.  

“Mercy.” Ruby lips twist in mockery, a frown on Lucifer’s features. “What platitude. He failed to do his job properly and did not banish Crawly from the Garden when he had the chance. He was feeling guilty. After all, were it not for him, they might not have been banished. Guardian of the Eastern Gate indeed! He failed quite spectacularly in his mission, did he not?”

“Quite the contrary. You know as well as I that whereas Salathiel was meant to succeed, Aziraphale was meant to fail.”

“He is no longer Salathiel,” the Adversary points with cutting words. “You made him Fall, did you not? He is Crawly now.” The mocking amusement from before returns, a chuckle to his words as he adds. “Funny is it not? That in the end my agent did the Right thing, whereas yours did the Wrong one.”

“Quite so. Ineffable if you think about it. But what should we do with them now. Our two wayward agents? My merciful angel and your beguiling demon?”

“Free Will. Humanity will need to have a reason to us it. To be given choices.” The Adversary muses, eyes turning towards the two celestial beings still remaining in the garden, gaze stopping on the serpent coiled around a tree, next to his should have been adversary. “He will tempt and he will test.”

“And Aziraphale will thwart. He will guard.”

The words echo in the air as the two beings slowly fade from sight, a proclamation sealing itself in the future of the world, unknown to the small pawns locked in the Universe’s grand game of chess.

On the dangerous road of the world, a man and a woman make their way towards the unknown.

In the sealed remnants of a garden an angel and a demon part ways as one heads towards the humans he had aided and another returns to the depths to make his report.

Unknown to them, the Powers deemed they would meet again.

But that, my dears, is a story for another day.


	5. The bells of War are tolling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here is a little truth for you: humanity has always been good at destroying itself. Between good and evil, between right and wrong, the choice has ever been a mix of the two. Humanity wrecks itself for good and ruins itself for evil. 
> 
> Look to our history and see.

Life is not fair. Life is suffering. Whoever claims otherwise is either a fool or a liar. We blame others for our misfortunes, but in reality it lies upon our shoulders.

Here is a little truth for you: humanity has always been good at destroying itself. Between good and evil, between right and wrong, the choice has ever been a mix of the two. Humanity wrecks itself for good and ruins itself for evil.

Look to our history and see.

Here is another truth: Death is one of God’s angels, a being of power sent to watch over both angels and humans alike. Azrael is Creation’s shadow, born at the very Beginning to guide until the very End. He will always Be until all will collapse unto itself and only the Darkness from the very start will reign absolute.

Famine was born when the Father banished Adam and Eve from Eden, punished them by vowing their lands would ever be hard to work and hard to coax in bringing fruit. Famine is humanity’s companion at the start, brutal and merciless. Pestilence came on the wings of Famine, a precursor of Death, inevitable and necessary.

But War?

War is different. Humanity gives birth to war in the chaos of the first centuries. Cain slays Abel and War opens her eyes, fire wild and dangerous. Man slays man and War roams the land, sword at her naked hip, red haired and unrelenting. Death follows in her wake, a constant companion to her unstoppable flames, humanity descending into madness until a Flood comes to cleanse all from the land.

And yet, when the rainbow bursts over the sky and the Ark at long last finds land, she is the first to break from the waters, cruel smile and challenging eyes. The sword shines at her hip as she walks the battlefields she creates herself.

Humanity is ever good at destroying itself. She merely lends them a hand.

Listen, can’t you hear the bells of War?

\---

Their next meeting is less pleasant from the first, though that is perhaps to be expected. They have been both stationed on Earth, the angel as a Principality and himself as his adversary. Abel’s blood still stains the earth when Aziraphale lays eyes on him, gaze blazing with bitter fury and sorrow. He holds a dagger, a cheap replacement for the lost sword of the once cherub, but still they clash in the very skies. Sharp claws meet steel, serpentine gaze bearing in cerulean eyes.

Crowley _( no longer Crawly, it had never been a fitting name to begin with )_ is no fighter, never had been, but now he must learn. Aziraphale is fuelled by rage and it is perhaps for the best, as movements that should have been precise and controlled are sloppy, hands shaking and eyes blurred by tears. It gives the demon enough of an edge to hold his ground, to give as well as he receives. Claws tear in white feathers, red blood stained with Grace oozing in their wake. Poison eats at flesh, leaving charred scratches behind where his hits met their mark.

He ends up discorporate in the end, dagger set alight by divine fire striking home, forcing him from a body crumbling to ash. There is victory on the angel’s face, but it is a hollow one. The last image Crowley sees before finding himself Down Below is Aziraphale on his knees, blood and feathers clinging to him as his determination crumbles to bitter defeat.

_( much later, in a small tavern during Medieval times, with cheap ale loosening his tongue, Crowley will tell the angel that it had never been him whispering in Cain’s ears. ‘humanity puts the evils of Hell to shame, angel, have you not learned?’ )_

Decades later, when humanity had boomed and the Earth was roamed by more than just a handful of humans, Aziraphale stumbles across Crowley again. This time he does not attack because he does not need to; not yet at least. The view unfolding before their eyes shakes him to the very core.

_( War makes her presence known, a cherub’s sword held in her grasp as she walks on the battlefield with abandon, teeth stained by blood and mouth curled in a pleased smile. She relishes in the battle, in the carnage that follows even though it is Heaven not humanity that started this war. )_

Ineffable, Aziraphale mutters to steel himself as he watches the archangels fly for the very Heavens, smiting the renegade Grigori and their offspring, blackening the land with the blood of the Nephilim and the Elioud. Their power burns, brilliance and light searing the ground and Crowley flees for the moment, unable to withstand the holiness of the attack.

_( War grins as the last of them is cut down by Michael, as the battle falls silent. Red hair falls in wild tangles down her shoulders and she quivers in anticipation. The Grigori and the Nephilim taught her little humans so much about warfare, about weapons and battle. She cannot wait for them to use the knowledge. )_

Ineffable, the Principality snarls after Azazel is locked in Dudael, his children slaughtered and the earth having fallen silent. Clawed hands are closed around his throat, yellow eyes almost copper in their anger as Crowley curses Heaven for the destruction. They are standing in the ash and blood of the fallen, some of them merely children never given a chance and the demon asks what makes Heaven so very different from Hell. As poisoned claws slit his throat, Aziraphale finds he cannot find an answer. There is regret in the demon’s eyes as the angel slips from his body towards Heaven, but it is hidden under layers and layers of burning fury.

_( centuries and centuries down the road, the cries of the Nephilim will still ring in their ears, will still make them shiver. they talk about the past, but never about Dudael, never about that war. )_

The angel returns just in time to see the waters rise. Crowley had already secured a spot for himself on the Ark. Perched on the mast, invisible to the eyes of the humans milling around, he watches the rain fall when a powerful beat of wings alerts him to Aziraphale’s arrival. They do not speak; there is nothing more to say, not when the angel’s side is proving just as merciless as his own.

Rain falls and falls, swallowing the desperate cries of the dying, washing away the supposed sins of the land and the angel watches with a pinched expression, furrowed brows betraying the turmoil inside. He does not cling to ineffability like a safety blanket, not as he always does; there is little fire in either of them as the world they walked for centuries is swallowed by the tidal waves of Divine Retribution.

They spend the voyage in silence, two immovable, unseen figures gazing at the horizon from the mast of the Ark. When the dove brings back a little branch, a sure sign of land, Crowley’s wing unfurl behind him, propel him forward. Neither gets discorporate this time, but the lingering taste in their mouth is just as bitter.

_( a new world rises from the ashes of the former, and yet neither of them truly forgives or forgets the sheer wrongness of the Flood. God knows this, so does Lucifer, but neither reprimands their agents for overstepping their bounds. The Powers that Be cannot afford to be merciful, but sometimes they can close their eyes when roles are forgotten and overlap. )_

Crowley whispers in humanity’s ears at Babel, but he does not get to see the result of his work before he is sent Below by the angel’s attacks. Aziraphale strengthens Abraham’s belief and guides him as he sets out from Harram, but is stopped halfway through by his adversary.

They spend centuries more, fighting one another, tearing their enemy from the skies, inflicting wounds and death, scars marring the world where they clash. Mountains crumble in wake of their fury, forests burn and valleys shake.

And little by little, they tire. Little by little, the battles lose their heat, the meetings end with words of contempt hurtled at each other instead of weapons. Little by little they allow humanity to follow its course without tearing each other apart.

Sometimes they speak. Sometimes they drink. Sometimes their arguments turn vicious and in the end one ends up being sent Below or Above for a new corporation.

But mostly, things change, inch by little inch.

\---

Away from Earth, in a place that is neither Heaven nor Hell, but rather a middle ground, all that remained from the time that had once been before Creation took its due, a brown haired being stands in the undefined mists. Green eyes keep straying towards the distance and features still undiscernible are marred by impatience.

Finally, the mists part and another being strides forward. Raven haired and red eyed, Lucifer brims with fury, with palpable anger bleeding in his following words. “They have found them. Humanity found them. Those wretched scrolls, those thrice damned parchments Azazel left behind when he was imprisoned. His final parting gift, a proper revenge.” A haunting laugh echoed in the nothingness of the place, sharp and bitter, the sound of defeat if there ever was one.

“I have seen. One in Sodom. One in Gomorrah.” The voice is restrained, perhaps overly so, calm in face of the other’s turmoil. Emerald eyes meet red ones and hold the gaze until the fire dims in Lucifer’s gaze.

“They cannot be allowed to remain there,” the Adversary finally states, all ice and determination. “You know what those scrolls are capable of. You know what humanity is capable of. Combined… Your Flood shall be seen as merciful compared to what I will do if those scrolls are used.”

“From your words, one would think you cared. And yet you abandoned them. Made them forget.” God chides gently, but does not deny his opponent’s words. He sees the truth in them, the sheer Intent. Words spoken and a course of the future sealed.

“They cannot remember. They can never remember. I am their Enemy. Whatever I did before was no more than folly.” Dismissive, quick and cutting. A lie wrapped so tight in the truth that even he might find it easy to believe it.

“You are the Enemy because the Balance demands it. You need not be their enemy. I rather think they would tell you likewise were they able to remember.”

“It matters not. It is done. But I will not allow humans such power over them Yahweh, I will not. Send your messengers if you must, but if the scrolls are not destroyed in a fortnight, I will act.”

With those words he is gone, mists engulfing him as he walks. God’s gaze follows Lucifer for a moment before his Presence dims and fades. Behind them, the mists remain in the pocket of existence that is neither Earth, nor Heaven or Hell.

\---

Chalk drawn circles mar the floor of a house in Sodom. Candles lit in rehearsed patterns litter the floor. A parchment, ash stained, with blood red writing lays unfurled. And in the darkness a pair of green eyes gleam as forbidden words are being chanted.

The circles on the ground flare with bright light, candles blazing bright before dying out. An angel, wide eyed and frightened appears in the circle, white wings unfurled for flight. But the patterns flare once more, unseen bindings wrapping around the malakhim’s feathery appendages, dragging them to the ground.

The angel struggles for freedom, frightened pleas stammered in Enochian, prayers to any who might hear. But the bindings remain, the bonds tightening and another flare of light silences their words.

A man steps forth, blade gleaming in wizened hands, mouth twisted in a rictus and eyes blazing with madness.

Later, the night is filled with blood curling screams, echoes of pain permeating the entirety of Sodom.


	6. Deliver us from evil and temptation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They speak of it in hushed whispers still, the tale of Sodom and Gomorrah. They tell you, listen, there was the cradle of Temptation and the cradle of Sin. When all in those cities had turned their face from God, but a select few, He rained fire and brimstone over them in punishment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a pain in the rear. The cliffhanger at the end of last chapter was never meant to happen and as a result this chapter was completely out of the blue and took me on a merry ride. I'm still not 100% happy with it.

They speak of it in hushed whispers still, the tale of Sodom and Gomorrah. They tell you, listen, there was the cradle of Temptation and the cradle of Sin. When all in those cities had turned their face from God, but a select few, He rained fire and brimstone over them in punishment.

Beware they say, it is a lesson you must all learn, least you fall in the same trap. Remember the hubris of Sodom and Gomorrah. Remember their fate.

The cities burned, it is true.

Death walked down their streets, black wings unfurled and arm stretched, gathering all those in the city to his side. Merciless and unstoppable, he walked among them as fire turned their cities to ruin, from start to very end.

But was it God who demanded their destruction?

Stop, dear, listen. When you stare too long into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you.

Sodom and Gomorrah burned, it is true, but they did not burn for their sins. God might have suffered their presence but they enraged one that would not forgive their folly.

Stop, listen. Here is their true story.

\---

Power corrupts. Always has and always will. Give humanity power and it will try to topple the very Heaves, wrestle with the Abyss itself and grin carelessly in the face of destruction. Give humanity power and it will challenge both Heaven and Hell without a moment’s hesitation

Candles are lit in a cave near Sodom. Blood stains the ground, red tainted white feathers strewn over the floor. Circles stand beneath them chalk drawn and blood drawn, patterns over patterns filling the entirety of the cave, even the walls themselves. And in their middle a man, grey haired and wizened, eyes touched by madness, dancing with glee.

Miles away, in a house in Gomorrah, torches light the features of a young woman. Pale lips chant words under their breath, faster and faster as blood stained fingers trace circles and shapes on the floor. Momentum is gained, the words booming louder in the silence of the house and with the last pattern completed on the floor, crimson light erupts with fury. The ground shakes, the smell of Sulphur in the air and when the flash dies out a demon stands in the middle of the sigil.

Red eyes gleam with fury, claws out and pouring poison, the body taunt and ready to attack. Words are snarled in a guttural tongue, a threat or a curse, but the woman merely smiles, head cocked to the side, feet coming closer to the middle of the room. A moment suspended in time, not hesitation but rather anticipating, a second, gazing at the demon with mock pity and then her hand wavers above one of the torches, blood pouring over fire.

White flames snake around the demon’s form, melting flesh where they touch. Shrieks of anguish echo in the silence of the room, the wail of a being caught in Death’s throes and the woman laughs and laughs and laughs…

\---

Anankiel disappears without trace; the entire Heavens are abuzz with rumors ranging from their Falling to the Adversary himself having come to steal the malakhim. Gabriel knows fully well neither version is true, knows it deep in his bones. There is foul work at play, a power that does not belong to Hell. Traces remain strewn across Heaven, but they spiral downwards, towards Earth. They remind him of the Grigori, but not quite, a mix that is not quite celestial, but neither is it human. It puzzles him, puzzles all of them, but no answer can be found without descending to Earth

“I cannot sense them anymore,” Raphael had admitted earlier with a pained expression, midnight blue eyes wide with despair. “I do not think there is anything to sense anymore.” An admission just as painful as the first and fear in his voice, for who could hold the power to do such to an angel, even a low powered malakhim?

Golden wings glide over the expanse of Jordan Valley, an archangel seeking answers for the unknown. Below, he knows, his brothers have been sent to see whether there is ought to be salvaged from the cities damned by their sins. But his destination lies elsewhere, not at Lot’s house, but close, where the traces die out, in a cave not far from the city itself.

Sandal clad feet touch the ground, wings folding at Gabriel’s back as he peers at the entrance. The ground is stained by blood, Grace lingering in mud and stone, a sure sign he had not been led astray. But there is something else, the smell of Sulphur remaining in the air, ozone and ash drifting as if from further away.

“Gabriel,” a voice comes from nowhere and everywhere at the same time, darkness gaining form in the falling dusk. Black wings flare at his back as the figure makes itself known, yellow eyes glancing at the archangel with surprise and just a hint of curiosity.

“I had not thought the Adversary would involve himself directly in the affairs of humans.” Contempt oozes from the archangel’s words, posture turning defensive, golden wings flaring in warning. There is fear in the silver gaze, but also determination and just a hint of reckless challenge.

“Calm yourself, Gabriel.” Mocking words hiding the real feelings beneath, regret buried so deep that it cannot be felt. The Archangel cannot remember, Lucifer knows it all too well, but the tinge of guilt and longing remains. “The humans took one that is Mine. I merely came to collect her and punish the fools that dared meddle in my affairs. I have no quarrel with you or yours, precious few that might be in these lands.”

“They took one of ours as well. Summoned him from the Heavens.” A frown mars angelic features, confusion and apprehension building in the archangel’s gaze. “The trace. I would have said it belonged to the Grigori had it not been so intrinsically human in nature.”

“The Flood did not destroy everything Azazel and his ilk had left behind. Some things lingered. It was only a matter of time before humanity stumbled over them.” And used them, Lucifer mused, because humanity was oh so good at damning itself. “Azazel wanted to make sure he would have his vengeance even if nothingness claimed him. What better way than arming humanity against the celestial planes? Come. Since we are both here, let us end this mystery.”

The cave is silent, a mass of blood stained stone twisting and turning at their feet. The feeling of wrongness grows as they move forth, the taint of the forbidden, of arts that mixed the worst of angelic powers and human ingenuity. The air itself is oppressive, darkness unrelenting and the echo of pain etched in the walls. There are no words exchanged between them as they walk, merely silence and the rigid tension between enemies working together for a common goal.

Lucifer knowns they are expected, feels the malice pouring from the human waiting patiently at the end of the cave. He feels the rage and the bitterness and the sheer darkness coiled tightly around the human’s soul. He also feels what the archangel does not, the mix of angelic and demonic blood, the permeating taint of Nephilim powers, the flames of madness eating away at the human’s mind.

It comes to a standstill when they reach the deeper most cave. The human is there waiting, face streaked with blood, eyes wild and glazed over. He lies in darkness, a flickering torch lighting his wizened features, but smiles as they step inside, laughs and laughs as Gabriel steps upon the sigils hidden in the darkness. Silver light flares in the room; dark bindings rise from the ground and before he can retaliate the archangel is captured, fire burning around snake like bindings, flames tearing apart his wings. The archangel screams in pain, knees buckling under the pain.

Lucifer steps forth. A wave of the hand makes the flames die, strips the power from the sigils on the ground.

“How?” the human stammers, the wild victory in his gaze stripped to bare bone. In its place, defeat resides and naked fear. Prey finding itself face to face with its predator and understanding it has no chance at survival.

“Fool,” a hiss, sibilant and angered, the power of a thousand dying suns echoing in the stillness of the cave. Darkness, fell and terrible, the lingering nothingness before the beginning of time. “You meddle with forces beyond your ken.”

“The sigils were meant to trap all those of divine stock. Demons and angels alike.” The man rises to his feet, hands clasped around a tattered parchment, holding it like a lifeline. “Why are you not affected. The others burned! He promised me, he promised me. Power, power, over the living and dying, power like I never had. He promised me. Why do you not burn?” The human shrieks, words tumbling desperate and fearful. Azazel’s revenge indeed; a human turned mad by the power he possessed, stripped of any vestige of remorse and restraint he might have had. A perfect weapon against Hell and Heaven alike.

The man points towards Gabriel with trembling hands, towards the face twisted by pain and the wings charred to the bone, to the bindings still tearing in the archangel’s body although the flames have been put out by the Adversary. Golden eyes narrow with fury; wings like the blackest night unfurl, not the feathery appendages of angels, but rather made of raw darkness, burst of lightning bright power flashing across them. A hand extends, clawed fingers and power building, but the next command is soft, yet compelling.

“Gabriel, close your eyes.”

There is no denying the Command in the voice, the sheer Intent. Gabriel does as he is bid so he does not see that wave of destruction tearing through the cave, tearing apart both human and stone, burning parchments and torches until naught is left behind. He does not see the same power erasing the sigils on the ground, the blood and the feathers, the very signs of the forbidden arts that had been at play there.

However, he feels the power brush over him, protective and not destructing, feels himself centered in place where all else is torn apart. And when the power dies out, the chaos relinquishing its hold over the cave and the sheer rage of the Adversary subdued, Gabriel remembers.

“You complete bastard,” a weary voice, eyes opening to see wings vanishing into nothingness and Lucifer _( for he is Lucifer again now that the walls blocking his memory are no more )_ standing before him with a pinched expression on his face. “You complete bastard.” He can utter no more as the bindings fade away and he collapses, the poison of the flames still raging inside him. Hands catch him, claws retracted and movements gentle, but cautious, as if expecting to be pushed aside. And rightfully so.

“I hardly think that is a proper response in face of all that occurred,” the Adversary retorts mocking, taunting, but Gabriel has no strength left to play at obliviousness.

“I remember. I remember, Lucifer.” Movements freeze, golden eyes widen and words are already forming, words of denial, lies burying the truth beneath pain and deceit. “Don’t you even dare. Don’t you dare try and tell me it was only a game. A role to see if you could make us Fall. Because that lie doesn’t hold brother dear. You knew even there you could not tempt us. You never whispered in our ears like you did in Leviathan and Asmodeus’. You never even tried. So don’t you dare!”

“Gabriel,” a pained whisper, rueful smile flashing on sorrowed features. “I never could lie to you. Not for long.”

“You made us forget. All of us. Raphael and Uriel and Michael. Me. You erased yourself from our memories. But now it’s back so don’t you dare take it away, don’t you even dare.” A shudder wrecks the archangel’s form, pain making him cry out as the last feathers fall to the ground in a charred mass.

“I’m your Enemy, Gabriel. The Balance dictates. There is no changing that. What good would remembering do? I will only hurt you in the end.”

“I don’t care!” A roar, the last vestige of strength spent on the vehement answer. “I don’t care, Lucifer. Just don’t, please. It’s my choice; you never gave it to me in the first place, but now, it’s my choice. It’s my choice.”

“Very well.” Ropes of light twist around the archangel’s body, blinding bright and gentle, causing the form to slowly disappear. Lucifer knows the pain of forming a body anew, knows the agony though which Gabriel will go in Heaven until his essence coalesces again. Knows and regrets. “I wish I could heal you.” He is not Creation, he is it’s Opposite, Darkness to Light, Destruction at the End of Time. He cannot heal. And yet…

“I know, brother.” Gabriel smiles, gently so, as his forms breaks apart altogether. Wisps of light drift to the Heavens and Lucifer stands. Yellow eyes give way to crimson red, beautiful features twisting in a thing of nightmares. Claws extend and wings unfurl, the embodiment of Darkness walking the very Earth.

And in the Heavens, a roar echoes, a promise of death and retribution.

_**“They have had their chance, Yahweh.”** _

\---

Fire and brimstone pours over Sodom and Gomorrah.

Late into the night, the sky is alight with the flames turning all into ash and dust.

Lot and his family make their way forth, leaving behind the carnage and the ruin.

 _‘Do not look back,’_ the angel had said and Lot does not for he is afraid, the words of the angel a stark warning in his soul. His daughters do not look back, though they are curious, as they fear the outcome of disobedience. But Lot’s wife turns back, curiosity and regret tugging at her heart, the desire to see her home one last time making her head turn.

She remains behind, a pillar of salt warning travelers that pass her by.

Later they will say she had been punished for her disobedience. But then, as she turned her head to gaze upon the destruction of Sodom, for the briefest of moments, the woman understood.

Mortal eyes are not made to gaze upon the Powers the Be, regardless of their nature. And the Adversary was terrible in his fury.

 

\---

It is hours until the fires stop, ashes blowing in the breeze. The screams of the dying had ceased long before, the wails and the pleas swallowed by the raging flames. The smell of burned flesh permeates the air, the smoke makes their eyes burn and beneath their feet ash gives way to bone. Still, they make their way through the streets of Sodom and Gomorrah, through the wreckage and the destruction.

They do not know what it is they are looking for; not survivors. The Lord had made sure to save those he deemed worthy. The Adversary had been thorough in razing the cities to the very ground. Sodom and Gomorrah stand as example to both the wicked and the just. No, it is not survivors they are seeking, but something else, a feeling driving them without revealing what it is.

They find the answer between the two cities, on a stone altar reeking of death and the forbidden arts. Aziraphale chokes back a sob at the sight, pallor stealing over his features and knees buckling beneath him. Crowley feels bile rise in his throat, serpentine eyes narrowing in hatred, in burning rage.

Anankiel lies open eyed on the stone altar, a dagger plunged in their heart, feathers plucked one by one, bloodied and thorn. Their arms are burned, charred remains barely discernable. But worst is the feeling of nothingness drifting from the angel, the feeling of Grace all burned up and a soul destroyed forever.

Astarte lies at the feet of the altar, her body burned beyond recognition. It is only the curved onyx horns and the crimson dagger still lying at her belt that allow Crowley to recognize her; her wings are no more, charred remnants where once had flared feathery appendages of midnight black. As with Anankiel, she radiates Nothingness, a destruction so absolute that makes the demon’s stomach recoil.

( _‘imagination, angel, humans have imagination,’ he will repeat millenniums later. ‘imagination and now electricity. tell me you can see how bad such a combination will be.’ and Aziraphale will nod, both of them forcing themselves not to think back towards two cities burned to the ground. )_

“We cannot leave them here,” the angel’s voice quivers, eyes haunted, deadly pallor still painted over his features. He forces himself not to look at his felled sibling, but rather turns towards Astarte’s unmoving form.

A nod is the only answer given; there is nothing more to be said. Clawed hands grasp the blade embedded in the felled angel’s body, flames bursting at the touch. The dark fire eats through Anankiel’s body without restrain, leaving behind only a handful of ash already drifting in the air.

“Your turn, angel.” The blade is offered hilt first and the Principality grasps it, plunging it in Astarte’s body. White flames flare beneath his fingers, divine fire following the same course of the hellfire from before. The altar they tear apart, until it is naught but a heap of stone, lying unrecognizable in the desert.

\---

On the plains of destruction, days later, two Beings stand and watch. One, in the shape of a woman, with gold ringlets falling to Her chin and eyes of grey, barefoot and solemn, beholds a pillar of salt with regret. Another, angel shaped, with black wings furled at his back and gaze mirroring the stars above, still brims with barely subdued rage.

“Do not look to me for regret. You will find none,” Lucifer points out unperturbed. “I have allowed you to save your little pets. It was more than enough.”

“I do not seek to contest your judgement, Lucifer. Sodom and Gomorrah had gone beyond the imaginable. They reached the point of no return and passed it with impunity. Left unchecked they could have brought ruin the likes of which humanity could never had imagined. It was not only the man and the woman who would have sought such paths. In time, the power would have spread to all. I know, I know fully well. I do not question why you erased him from Existence, why you turned her to ash and left her soul in Belial’s hands.”

“Then why have you summoned me to this place?” 

“Gabriel will be well,” God ignores the question, offering a change in the subject or perhaps merely the continuation of the first. “He has been through a similar ordeal after his battle with Samyaza. The flames of the Grigori burned as relentlessly as the echo bound in Azazel’s scrolls did.”

”They should not have dared,” darkening features, the echo of the anger from before, the sound of fires burning in Sodom. “They will know better now.”

“Perhaps, though doubtfully so. After all, humanity created War. For now, they will fear and they will tremble at the memory. In time, they will forget. And should more scrolls make themselves known, they will try again.” God turns his back to the figure of salt, gaze encompassing the entirety of wasteland that had once been habitable. “You allowed him to remember. I do not know if it will be for the best, especially as the others do not.”

“It was his choice.” Wings unfurl and with a powerful beat, Lucifer raises himself in the skies. There is naught to be said. It had been Gabriel’s plea, Gabriel’s choice and he had allowed it, despite knowing better. Only time will show in which ways such choice will shape the Plan.

 

\---

 

There is a cairn in Jordan Valley, a sole remnant of a past long lost.

Those who do not know its tale pass it by, curious glances thrown at the foreign language etched in its stone. Some stop and wonder what message it conveys, while others see to their road, a lingering curiosity nagging at the back of their mind.

There is a cairn in Jordan Valley.

An angel and a demon worked side by side, placing stone over painful stone, immortalizing the wickedness of humanity in the soil that birthed it. Divine and hellish fire etched the stone, a cautionary tale for the generations to come. Enochian scribbled in shaking markings. Enochian etched in furious marks.

_‘Remember Sodom and Gomorrah. Remember the fire and brimstone.’_

Hush, child, don’t be afraid of the things that go bump in the night. They are not the ones who hurt you. Nothing they can do is half as bad as the things we come up with ourselves. Did I not warn you? Humanity reinvents itself in destructive ways.

Beware, hell is empty and all the devils are here.


	7. Interlude: Love's like the wind, it leaves wreckage where it blows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before moving forth, there are still words that need to be said, demons that need to be put to rest.  
> A small interlude with Gabriel and Lucifer

There is a place in Heaven that remains untouched, a sad effigy to the destruction caused by a Great War. The tress stand felled, charred remnants of wood that had once spiraled mightily with branches entwining until they disappeared from sight. The ground is blackened, dead, no longer filled by stretches upon stretches of soft, green grass. It remains as remembrance and warning, a battlefield and a tombstone, the sight of Heaven’s greatest battle. It is a place most often avoided, one that sorrows even God to look at. And yet it is a place now thread, dead twigs and burned leaves creaking under sandal clad feet, the rustle of feathers echoing in the stillness.

“I had not thought to find you here,” silver eyes, weary and still pain filled, gaze in the distance towards a figure standing on the remnant of a temple. “I had not thought to find anyone here.” There is a scorch mark by his side, a thin line of ashen ground, jagged at the edges that speaks of Belial’s favored weapons. “Rumors were the Heavens are barred to the Fallen, are they not?”

“They are. But then again, I was never one of the Fallen to begin with, was I?” the figure finally answers, red eyes giving way to midnight blue, gold and silver hues coating a formerly black plumage. Lucifer turns, assuming the visage he had worn before the War had erupted, before his poisoned words had taken root in the souls of the fallen.

“You were one of us, before you took our memories. Nothing else would have mattered.” A hint of anger bursts in Gabriel’s voice, the relief of being able to remember overruled by the betrayal of the theft itself. “You made us hallow, Lucifer. There is a void inside, one that we all feel, but have no way of knowing why it’s there. A lingering ache that reminds us that we lost something, something precious. We agonized for so long wondering what it could have been and in all this time you held the answer.”

Hands curl into fists, nails biting in flesh trying to hide the soft tremor still lingering in newly healed limbs. “I remember now. I remember and I do not regret, but the others do not. Tell me how am I supposed to look them in the eye and lie, withhold this truth from them and keep them hurting? Tell me, because I do not know. I walk these plains of desolation by myself, because it is better than being with them and feeling like I am betraying them with each moment I keep my silence in their presence.”

“I could make you forget again. I could make it last this time, remove every single piece of my presence from your recollection, from my brothers’ memories. I could do it oh so easily and you would never know,” Lucifer ignores the way Gabriel’s face pales even more at the words, the flash of panic and the steps taken backwards, the resignation and bitterness flaring on fair features. The visage of the condemned upon seeing the executioner is one they hold dear. “Calm thyself Gabriel, I will not. I never quite could deny you anything, little brother, and though I know better this is yet another happenstance where I could not say no. I am merely offering you the option. But your struggle is one you must overtake yourself.”

He sighs, bitterness flaring on his features and for the briefest of moments he is once more as he had been during Heaven, the being in an archangel’s shape that had the courage to speak against the Father himself. “It was my folly, all of it. And it is you who must suffer. For this I apologize, Gabriel. I should not have made myself known to you, I should have kept the distance. But what is done is done; you have remembered, though I wish you had not and I will do nothing to change it. But, I still believe they are better off not knowing.”

“They would want to know. They would want to be whole again,” the archangel points out, the battle already lost yet trying nonetheless.

“Perhaps. And perhaps a time will come when I will reconsider my stance. But it is not now. I cannot be both their Enemy and their brother, Gabriel. And I cannot afford to be only their brother. Hence, I shall remain their Enemy and they will remain ignorant of our mutual past.”

He turns, the mask of the angel Lucifer falling and leaving behind the visage of the Adversary, red eyes and dark wings, features fair but terrible. “I merely wished to see you were whole once more. Now that I have seen, I need be on my way. But, Gabriel, know this?”

“Know what, brother?”

“If you have need of me, I will be there, for any of you. I have never forgotten our promise from ages ago.” Black wings unfurl in flight, the appendages giving birth to a small whirlwind in their wake. Once it disperses, Lucifer is gone, but in his place, remains one single midnight black feather, brimming with power.

Later, such a feather will always be seen tied to a messenger’s trumpet, always present whenever Gabriel leaves Heaven. And if others think to question its presence, to demand explanations for a feather of clear demonic origin, a single quelling look from Gabriel makes them hold their tongue.

After all, some secrets are worth keeping.   


	8. We will stand witness in face of destruction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pride goes before destruction and an arrogant spirit before a fall.
> 
> History teaches us that pride has ever been humanity’s downfall, that arrogance led to ruin and destruction. Tales tell us similarly, paint the prideful in the colours of villainy, condemn them in stories written in ink on paper.

Pride goes before destruction and an arrogant spirit before a fall.

History teaches us that pride has ever been humanity’s downfall, that arrogance led to ruin and destruction. Tales tell us similarly, paint the prideful in the colours of villainy, condemn them in stories written in ink on paper.

Look to the Empires, they say. Mightier than the mightiest, the culmination of their time’s civilizations and they crumbled to dust, pride acting as their downfall.

Look at dethroned monarchs. Arrogant and haughty, believing themselves above their subjects, they basked in their power and failed to take into account that the weak become mighty indeed when they gather.

Look to Egypt and remember the Plagues that rained upon to land.

Look to Egypt and remember the pride of a Pharaoh that sacrificed his own people to satisfy his hubris.

Yes, dear ones, let us look to Egypt.

\---

They find themselves in the same position from years before when they had watched a small basket tilting slightly on the rolling surface of the river. Aziraphale’s hand had risen for a miracle, steadying it gently, but did no more. It had not been to them to interfere; not then and not now. Not in this. They had waited until the pharaoh’s daughter had picked the wailing babe, carrying him into the palace, calling him hers, before they had left to resume their duties.

**Blood.**

Years later, they are still spectators to a play put on stage by actors much greater than themselves. The waters of the Nile darken, crimson blooming over their surface, water turning into blood, chocking the very life inside the depth. The first Plague. The first Punishment. A copper tang drifts in the air and panicked cries rise. Already fear starts ebbing in the very essence of Egypt.

“Besssst be on your way, angel.” Hissed words and unblinking eyes, a demon’s warning of things they both know are to come. “Ramses will not yield. Them Below have sent Beelzebub to whisssper in the Pharaoh’s ear. They will leave nothing to chance, not now.” The Prince of Hell himself, sent to strengthen the Pharaoh’s resolve. No matter what comes, he will not waver.

_( millenniums later they will say it had been God that hardened Ramses’ heart, made him unwilling to compromise. millenniums later they will speak of it as God’s desire to triumph over the gods of Egypt and strengthen the faith of his people. they will call it a power play, but they will not realize it was actually chess between the Powers that Be, a game of one-upmanship each side was trying to win. )_

“Where would I go?” To Heaven, to witness the match from the protection offered by the Lord’s presence, to watch the death and destruction with absent detachment? To an empty corner of the earth, hiding like a coward until all would come to an end? “I am stationed here.”

There is no response from Crowley, not that he had expected one. Aziraphale knows better than to question ineffability, but sometimes he wants to, oh how he wants to. Crowley has always questioned it, but no answer has ever been offered. In this they are different and yet so very alike. Both struggling to make sense of the Plan with what little answers are given to them. Both unable to.

Beelzebub whispers in Pharaoh’s ear and Metatron strengthens Moses’ resolve with God’s words; in the middle, between great Powers at war, lie thousands and thousands of souls about to suffer. Humanity had ever been caught between the Powers, hadn’t it, ever since a demon tempted a woman with an apple and an angel protected a family with a sword.

**Frogs.**

“It will only get worse. No matter who wins, it will only get worse,” the demon cautions as frogs rise from the waters of the Nile, spreading across the entirety of Egypt. Fear becomes tangible, sobs and shrieks echoing across the expanse of the land.

Their wings unfurl and they are airborne before the frogs can reach them. A glimpse from above shows the devastations strewn across the land, the panic increasing with each passing moment. The people of Egypt scream and beg for mercy, and yet the Pharaoh turns a deaf ear to their pleas. ‘No,’ the damning reply comes once more. ‘I will not let your people go.’ Eyes narrow at Moses, bitterness in a tone that once held warmth. ‘Do your worst.’

And Heaven obeys.

**Lice.**

The lice do not touch them; perched on top of the Sphynx they watch unmoving as the screams echo below, as people run on the streets, arms reddened by bites, tears streaming down their cheeks. Already Death has started stalking the streets, the first of the Horsepeople to appear. They know the others won’t be too far behind; it might not be an Apocalypse, but given the amplitude of destruction, it may as well be called such.

Crowley miracles a pair of goblets filled with wine; they drink until they are able to drown the screams below and then they drink some more. It is only when they tether precariously on the brink of not being able to sober up if they drink anymore that they stop. Wine stands splashed against the Sphynx, a bright red trail winding below. A fitting imagery if ever was one.

**Swarm.**

The swarm might have been the answer, the final drop in a glass already too full. With humans and livestock alike afflicted, the Pharaoh wavered, indecision flaring on stern features. A promise is made, to allow the Israelites to go, if the plague is lifted from the land. Moses nods, approval radiating on weary features and he asks God to lift the plague. God answers, but as soon as the swarm is gone, a demon’s whisper grows loud in Pharaoh’s ears. ‘Don’t let them go,’ the demon whispers and Ramses rescinds his promise.

**Diseased animals.**

Pestilence walks the streets of Egypt, tattered toga hanging on a malnourished body, silver hair windswept. Cattle collapse at his passing, animals breathing their very last and he smiles, grin wide and pleased as the disease sweeps across the land. Famine will be close by, he knows; already Egypt is withering under the power of the plagues, ground to bare bone by their fury.

‘Will you let my people go?’ Moses inquires, pleading. It hurts to see a homeland torn apart due to the pride of another, hurts to see the death of his once people. But his determination cannot waver, his faith absolute. ‘No,’ comes the whisper as the Pharaoh’s heart hardens anew. ‘No, I will not let them go.’

**Boils.**

Death is already spreading its reach. Azrael walks from one house to another, black wings unfurled, taking the hand of those felled by Pestilence. The smell of sickness makes the surroundings reek, a copper tang permeating in the air. In his palace, the Pharaoh remains deaf to the suffering of his subjects, to their woes and their desperate cries. His son is hidden, safe from all the suffering. They will endure, they must. He will not give in to Moses’ demands.

**Hail.**

They remain above the sphinx when fire and hail starts raining from the skies. Remembrance flares in their souls, two other cities destroyed by fire, though by another hand, a mirrored image painted by different artists. ‘Tell me again how is Heaven any different from Hell?’ Crowley asks anew and still Aziraphale has no answers to offer. He wonders, instead, whether they will be witness to another city crumbling to ruin. Wonders when ineffable mercy became so very merciless. Wonders when he was turned into a silent witness to face the destruction of the world over and over again.

_( he does not wish to contemplate the notion further. The plan is ineffable for a reason he reminds himself, clinging to the word as if it would anchor him in the hurricane of destruction taking place around them. It doesn’t, but it is worth the try )_

**Locusts.**

Famine grins savagely as the locusts destroy all that is left of Egypt. Remnants of crops, trees and food, all turned to dust by the relentless insects covering the entirety of the land, thousands upon thousands of them hiding the very ground from sight. Famine grins with joy, hunger growing in his wake as he sweeps the streets of the city.

**Darkness.**

The angel shivers in the encompassing darkness, teeth chattering and wings furled around him in protection. There is no light anymore, not even the tiniest speck and it hurts, oh it hurts. A sob is lodged in his throat, despair on pale features and he wishes he had left towards the Heavens when he had been given the chance. Angels are not made to linger in darkness.

“Easy, angel, easy.” A hand is pressed to his shoulder, a soft brush of wings over his own. “It’ll end soon enough. They all did. So, don’t you dare give up now! You hear me?”

“They’re all dying.” Blue eyes peer from their feathery shelter, but only the briefest of spark can be seen in the darkness. “I can feel them all, Crowley. What have we done?”

**Death.**

Wave over waves of agony, of pain and desperation, the cries of the stricken, of the dying, of all those that remained behind, stripped of all they held dear. Destruction at its finest, worse than the Flood, worse than Sodom and Gomorrah. Hundreds and hundreds of children dying, their parents cursing the powers that tore them from their side.

And amidst it all, two beings, unwilling witnesses to the woes of humanity, as they have ever been since the Garden and the apple.

_( God’s words will be written down later, in parchments and books. ‘There will be loud wailing throughout Egypt—worse than there has ever been or ever will be again.’ Humanity takes it as exaggeration, as the creative license of those who wrote the books, but then again humans have always been experts at lying to themselves )_

‘I will let your people go,’ whispers the Pharaoh, defeated at last.

**Exodus.**

The Israelites are allowed to leave, but doubt their luck will hold. The Pharaoh had changed his mind before; he can do so once more. They make it as far as the Sea, before the Egyptians catch up with them, hatred flaring on enraged features.

Ramses rides alongside War, the last of the Horsepeople to appear as if she had bit her time for the perfect moment. Her sword is held aloft, teeth bared in savage glee and Ramses charges after the Israelites, wrath burning in his soul _( Beelzebub had never quite stopped whispering in his ear )._

God looks down upon his people and parts the seas for them, allows them passage and denies it of the Egyptians, Death claiming them one by one as the waters collapse upon them.

_( they still say faith can part seas and it is for this reason. Ramses never stopped listening, but Moses never stopped believing )._

It is a victory for Heaven, but a bitter one nonetheless. It will be years until the Israelites reach the Promised Land. Years before Death’s presence dims from their midst, leaves them to their own devices. Years until War stops walking among them, smile cruel and wild. Years until Famine relinquishes its hold on the chosen people, years until Pestilence no longer hounds their steps.

It will be years and by the end, humanity will be none the wiser than it had been in the beginning.

Just crueller.

\---

And so, time passes. Years turn into decades and decades into centuries. The world changes under their very eyes and there is little they can tell humanity that it has not come up with by itself. Empires rise and fall, an everlasting circle that cannot be broken. Kings rule and perish, some of them just and wise, others cruel and wicked.

A demon whispers in a woman’s ear and she betrays her lover. An angel murmurs to a Queen and she saves her people. Time slips through their fingers, a relentless flow, sand in an hourglass counting the moments till an End and a Rebirth.

The tide turns again and again. Sometimes good triumphs over evil. Other times it is evil that gains the upper hand.

After a while, the stories start. The legends. The words of the prophets echoing loud in the ears of all those willing to listen.

And then a star is born, shining bright on the night sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm wrapping up the BC events with this chapter. I know I cheated and glossed over a helluva lot of events, but this chapter has been a pain in the rear to write and I don't think I'd do any of the rest justice as my knowledge about them is somewhat limited. So off we are to AD events.


	9. Forever the tide shall turn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BC, they will come to call our story, a title for the years that had lapsed, four millenniums worth of mankind’s history, blurring into another age in a year that is not quite known, merely guessed.
> 
> AD will be dubbed what follows next, Anno Domini, the years that come after an archangel makes himself known to a virgin and a star shines bright above a manger.
> 
> Come closer, let us finish our story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've thought long about where I'm taking this story, and I've decided doing a series seems like the best way to go. So, this is going to remain as the first part and I'll have one, maybe two sequels for it spanning AD events and post-book events. It makes it a little less daunting as a task for me and also allows me to change the tone a bit since the events of the Old Testament are more doom and gloom than what I've initially had in mind.

There are patterns strewn across our history. Seek them out, look to them.

Patterns of war and peace, a never-ending cycle that cannot be broken. Patterns of humanity searching for a savior, of pleading for salvation. Patterns over patterns shaping the history of mankind. There is a beginning and an end to each of them, before the cycle starts anew. 

Here we reach our end, the first of many.

Time trickles down inexorably, painting a new start in history.

BC, they will come to call our story, a title for the years that had lapsed, four millenniums worth of mankind’s history, blurring into another age in a year that is not quite known, merely guessed.

AD will be dubbed what follows next, Anno Domini, the years that come after an archangel makes himself known to a virgin and a star shines bright above a manger.

Come closer, let us finish our story.

\---

Silence reigns in Bethlehem. It is not the 25th, nor is it winter _( humanity is still decades away from inventing such dates ),_ but it is the day they will later come to be celebrated. Inside a manger a woman, tired but radiant, gazes adoringly upon her babe laid in a crib besides her. The tiny child whimpers slightly in his sleep, but does not wake. The fate of humanity rests on his shoulders, but that is long in the future. For now, he is loved and he is safe.

Outside, two children stand and watch, clothes tattered and faces stained by dirt. One boy, one girl, standing on their toes to gaze through the window of the barn, to watch the child and his mother. Though people pass them by, they are disregarded the instant eyes are laid upon them, a figment of imagination pushed aside as the strangers are on their way.

“Are you sure of your decision?” the girl asks judgmentally, small hands pressing upon the wood of the barn, dark blue eyes peering at her companion with intent. “You have given him to humanity and you know how they treat their own. They will not appreciate his purpose, his role. They will malign him and betray him.”

“It is what it must Be,” the boy replies, Love shining brightly in golden eyes and fondness on his features as he beholds his sleeping Son. “Such is what must come to pass. He will guide them. He will change them.”

“Not for the better. No matter what he does, it will not be enough. Humanity has long surpassed anything that Hell could devise. Years and years down the road, will they not simply forget, as they have forgotten all that the past sought to teach them?”

“Some he will change for the better. For some, even the memories will be enough. Do not be so quick to discount humanity, Lucifer. They are not all bound for your domain,” God rebukes gently. “Shall I question you also, two millenniums in the future, when it shall be your son sleeping in the arms of a humanity?”

“I would rather you did not. After all, their purposes could not be more different, you know it fully well. But we shall see who will be right in the very end.”

Inside a barn, a babe of no more than one hour sleeps the peaceful slumber of infants. Outside two children vanish into nothingness, as if they had never been there. And above all their heads a star shines bright, paving the way for three wise men.

All that is to come will be a beginning and an end, wrapped tightly together.

\---

It’s several decades later; a blink in the history of humanity, a mere second in the life of the Universe. And still, it’s several decades later and they make all the difference in the world.

On the outskirts of Jerusalem, far from the whispering crowds, eyes riveted on chasm stretching at their feet _( in another story it had been a tree and a rope. perhaps it was, who can really know? ),_ two beings stand in silence, one with golden wings glimmering in the fading light, another man-shaped and yet so much More.

“They say he jumped. Couldn’t stand the guilt on his conscience and he just leapt. Or perhaps he merely stumbled. I wasn’t really paying attention.” The taller one says, pitch black eyes gazing at the chasm below. He had not sent his agents to whisper in Judas Iscariot’s ears. There had been no need. Humans were greedy enough on their own and thirty pieces of silver had sealed two lives. One merely for a little while, as the prophecies were finally being fulfilled. Another, for eternity, in his domain. “Doesn’t really matter. He is bound Below either way. Leviathan will have her fun with him.”

“Little brother tried very hard to reach him. Offered hope and assurance, cajoled and pleaded. I think he takes it as a personal failure that he didn’t manage to make him change his mind,” the other answers, sorrow and resignation vivid in silver eyes. He wonders, as Aziraphale too had wondered, exactly how much of Iscariot’s resistance to the angel’s promises, to his careful words had been sheer human stubbornness and how much part of it had been ineffability. A perfect mix of the two, most likely.

“He couldn’t have reached him.” Decisiveness, the knowledge of one who could see all there was to come, who had played a role in shaping the Plan. “The little guardian could have tried all he wanted and it wouldn’t have done any good. It would have been easier to get Crowley to rise again or other such nonsense.” He turns, feet dislodging little rocks that tumbled into the abyss below. “But what is it you are still doing here, Gabriel? Haven’t you already frightened the humans enough?”

“Father sent me to deliver the message. He did not explicitly say I was to appear as non-threatening as possible,” the archangel says loftily. God may have sent his Son to humanity to teach them forgiveness, but it did not mean the archangel would just as readily forgive them their deeds, their cruelty. The guards would remember their fright and spread the word.

“And so you have. Why did you linger?”

“I do not know. I thought to find Aziraphale, but he was arguing with that demon about Iscariot and I supposed you would not take it too kindly if I smote your agent from here to Kingdom Come without provocation.”

 “Indeed,” Lucifer admitted with amusement. It had been a while since Crowley had been to Hell to ask for a new corporation. A curiously long time. Amusing though he was, the Adversary much preferred him topside.

“Anyway, little brother may just end up discorporating him again considering how virulent the argument had gotten. I was about to return when I heard the people talk about Judas’s fate and their stories drove me here. I thought I’d see the place for myself. And now, it just… it feels like something just ended. And this end will bring a change that may not be for the better.”

There is a desperate quality to Gabriel’s voice, a tinge of frailty that had not been there before, not in face of the War that had robbed him of brothers and sisters, not in face of the greatest calamities the Earth had seen so far, not even in Sodom’s cave when he had been oh so hurt, both by the fire and by his returning memories. A foreboding of things to come.

“I feel like this brings us closer to the End,” the archangel admits in a pained, fearful voice. ‘ _I do not want to have to fight them yet again’_ remains unsaid, but not unheard.

Lucifer can find nothing in him to offer reassurance for he knows what is to come. There are still millenniums until the Apocalypse arrives, but it is much closer than it had been. Much, much closer… And a time will come when humanity will pass the point of no return once more, when God will deem it time to wipe the slate clean.

But it is in the future, still. For now, God’s Son has died for humanity and in turn humanity will die for him. It had ever been easier to destroy than to protect, to accuse than to forgive. Cities will burn and wars will be waged, kingdoms will crumble to dust and humanity will prove all over again it had learned nothing at all.

“Everything will change, it is true. But it may not be only for the worst,” a twisted echo of his own words from three decades ago, a lie offered where before he had spoken the truth, an attempt to cling to God’s belief from before or merely trying to fool even himself. “Or perhaps it will be a mix of the two. It is early still to fear the End, Gabriel, much too early.”

Silence stretches once more between them; there is nothing more to add. Heaven won that day, with the rebirth of a Son and the burst of faith spreading far and wide among his followers. But Hell won as well, with souls damned to the pits for their wickedness and a betrayal that will be marked in history for all the millenniums to come. A standstill as it ever had been and nothing but the future to tell how the tide would turn.

In the falling dark, Gabriel and Lucifer stand, waiting for the future to unfold.

\---

Farther away and several weeks later, in the heart of Jerusalem, an agent of Heaven and an agent of Hell walk into a seedy tavern. It is not a joke, though centuries down the line many would start so. Instead it is yet another cease-fire, two beings who have both won and lost so many times throughout the millenniums, opting to spent a quiet evening surrounded by wine and cheap ale.

“Ssso where to, angel?” Crowley slurs, the hiss stronger in his voice due to his inebriated state. “Now that He’s ascended and his merry band of do-gooders are off to trot across the world and preach their nonsense? Not gonna stay in Jerusalem, I’ll gather?”

“Why would you care,” the angel tries to ask loftily, but tilts precariously and ends up sloshing his ale all over the barmaid. The following few minutes are spent muttering apologies.

“Easy, angel. I wanna jump country and I need to know where to go so I’m not smote in the next century for my troubles.”

“I hardly think that was a warranted remark. You haven’t been smote in nigh on a century. Ever since that affair with the rabbi and the donkey.”

“Nice one that,” a grin of remembrance, satisfaction flaring on the demon’s face before returning to the subject at hand. “I’m bored, angel. Bored of this place, bored of this land, bored of all the Go-Sa-Someone forssssaken sssand and of archangels just popping up willy-nilly.”

“It’s been only Gabriel, not the whole lot of them. And you’ve barely spent a few years here in the past decades, Crowley. You were in Rome most of the time, pretending to be a Senator or a Patrician or whatever else you were pretending to be. Don’t see why you’re complaining.”

“Details, ‘ziraphale, details. The point is… the point is… I have sand in places I didn’t even know this corporation had. Too much sand. Hate this place.  Need someplace new. Like Britannia. Britannia’sss nice. Big ruddy monster in lake. Rain. There’s no rain here.”

“Only last century you were complaining of too much rain in Dacia,” the angel points out patiently.

“Gaul then. ‘s nice this time of the year.”

“It is at that. And there’s that lovely little village. The one that keep thwarting all of Caesar’s plans.”

“Or maybe even further north. See what the fuss is about there,” Crowley continued undeterred before the angel’s words catch up with him. “Wait! Angel?”

“Yes, Crowley.”

“You are not coming with me. I did mention, right? Smite free environment. ‘sss how we started this discussion.”

“My duties here are done. There is nothing tying me to this land anymore. And it would hardly be proper of me to allow you free reign around there unthwarted,” the angel points out, a rather pleased smile flaring on his features.

“I’m not nearly drunk enough for this,” the demon grouses, returning to his mug of ale. Britannia sounded nice indeed. He’d just have to lose the angel somewhere in Gaul and be on his way afterwards. Hopefully without everything escalating in another discorporation incident. A nice plan if he managed to stick to it.

\---

It will catch up with them again, the crushing tide of history. It will leave them at its tireless mercy, show them all the sides of humanity, the good and the bad, the wicked and the just. But for now, as a chapter comes to an end and another opens, it is silent, waiting patiently for events to come, allowing an intake of breath and a lull before the storm breaks out once more.

Above, a Son stands at his Father’s right and smiles.

Below, an Adversary plans for the centuries to come.

And caught between them as always, humanity sees to its life no matter how fleeting and insignificant it might seem in the grand scheme of things.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Off we trot to the sequel which should probably be out the day after tomorrow.  
> And yes, Lucifer apparently is taking over most of my chapters, with Gabriel close behind. I regret nothing.


End file.
